


Caress and control

by unmeiboy



Category: Johnny's Entertainment, NewS (Band)
Genre: Bloodplay, Knifeplay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 20:29:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3147584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unmeiboy/pseuds/unmeiboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It's the thrill that gets Tegoshi so hot and bothered, that makes him beg for it. The fact that if Massu wanted to end his life, he could.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caress and control

**Author's Note:**

> This is the oneshot version of the first drabble in [Contagious](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3147575).

The only lamp in the room reflects in the blade; Massu angles it, and the light blinds Tegoshi momentarily. Before his eyes have adjusted back to normal light there's a tiny spot of cold against his chest; while it makes him jump at first, he already knows what it is by the time he can see it. It's the blunt side of the knife, turning in Massu's hand when it reaches the end of his sternum, and he gives a full body shiver.  
“Please,” he whimpers, and he doesn't doubt a second that Massu notices the way his cock twitches.  
“Hmm.” His eyes are on the edge of the knife as he holds it up with one hand, makes it stand straight up from Tegoshi's chest. “Not sure you've been bad enough for punishment.” Fingertips ghost up the inside of Tegoshi's thighs, and his hips rock up against nothing; the knife slips a little on his chest thanks to the movement. Massu lifts it, takes it off his skin, earns a whine when Tegoshi's body registers the loss of contact with the metal. There's a spot of red above his abs, and this time, Massu glares straight into his eyes. “You're lucky we're not doing shoots in a while. You'll have to keep your clothes on for TV too.”

The fear and satisfaction is a strangely attractive mix on Tegoshi's face; it is exactly what he wants, but judging by Massu's words, it might be more than he initially asked for. A hand on his chest, closer to his collarbones than to the little spot where his skin is opened a few millimeters, pushes him down firm against the mattress. He's not tied up, but that single action makes him act as though he is, hands fisting in the bed covers as he leans his head all the way back, eyes on the ceiling. When Massu places the knife against his skin again, he doesn't watch his movements, hisses as the first real cut splits his skin. It starts from where the knife slipped, goes straight down from there to just a couple centimeters above his navel, and while it's shallow, it still feels unsafe. Because there's nothing underneath, no bone; Tegoshi knows that Massu holds a lot more than just a knife in that hand.

It's exactly that thrill that gets Tegoshi so hot and bothered, that makes him beg for it. The knowledge that if Massu wanted to end his life, he could. And he knows Massu gets off on it, on having that power, but also on having Tegoshi's trust. Because even though it could be dangerous Tegoshi lets him have his life in his hand in exchange for the stinging pain of a sharp blade, and exactly because it could be dangerous it makes him harder than anything else ever does.

The second cut is along one of his ribs; the third is a mirror of it on the opposite side, and Tegoshi can see in Massu's eyes that he's only getting started. The cuts are still shallow, but then he lifts the knife, places a strong hand on Tegoshi's hip, and next the metal is cutting into his waist. And he actually whimpers a little of pain, an outdrawn sting that burns at the same time; Massu is putting more force behind the blade now, going deeper. He's barely done with the cut before there is blood welling up from it, blood that easily runs over and down towards the sheets. A couple centimeters further to his hip he repeats it, and now Tegoshi gasps more than he whines, breaths a little quicker than usual, but he seems less surprised by the level of pain.

He's sure that Tegoshi is still under his limit of pain, but he checks anyway, slips a hand to his cock and finds it still hard, if not harder. He wraps his hand around it, jerks it up and down while he puts the knife on the bed, far enough away that it won't get it the way. Tegoshi moans shamelessly, and when Massu slides his hand down one of his thighs his legs spread on their own.  
"Impatient." Massu leans down, keeps himself up above Tegoshi on one arm, and Tegoshi's eyes open to meet his. "You're always so impatient." Tegoshi knows, pleads for more with his eyes, but says nothing just yet. "You want my cock already?" he asks, earns a moan at the words alone, but that isn't what makes him smirk. It's that Tegoshi is shaking his head.

So he picks up the knife again, starts cutting at random, varying shallow cuts with deeper ones where he knows Tegoshi's body can allow it. He's so up in the moment that when he finally puts it down Tegoshi is still making weak noises, every time he moves or when Massu's weight shifts the bed and moves him, and he leans back to take a look at his work.

It's like a net of shiny red pearls on thin threads, all across Tegoshi's torso, some of them small and dark, probably hard by now; some of them are larger, will break and smear at the slightest touch. All the time, he feels Tegoshi's eyes on him, watching for what will happen next, but it's not until he has put the knife aside on the bedside table that he meets his gaze. His right hand makes contact with Tegoshi's abs; they jump a little, the skin tightens, and Massu feels the thick wetness of blood spreading and smearing against his palm. He doesn't make much of a mess, lets his fingers trace the very first line up and down, dips his index finger into Tegoshi's navel before he strokes upwards again. There's no sounds coming from him now, only gasps and light sighs, small shivers wherever Massu touches him.

Although he would never be able to admit it to anyone, when Tegoshi looks like this, Massu finds him to be at his prettiest. Hands still clutching onto the sheets, eyes hooded as they follow the movement of Massu's hands, his chest rising and sinking in shaky breaths, and the red tainting his otherwise flawless skin. Erection thick and heavy against his stomach, legs spreading even before his inner thigh is stained with the blood on Massu's hand. Despite how it must stretch some of the cuts he even rocks his hips up to meet Massu's when he gives a thrust, not inside, just rubbing their cocks together, and it's Massu's turn to groan, deep in his throat. Tegoshi has always been eager, since way before they started playing like this, and every time he acts on that eagerness Massu realizes anew that it's probably the thing about Tegoshi that turns him on the most.

He lets his hands slide up the outside of Tegoshi's thighs, past his hips, settles at his waist, which isn't just smeared with blood; his palms are wet with it by the time he has a good grip on them, and he has to hold firmly to not slip. Those are the deepest cuts, deep enough that he feels the edges of them when he places his hands right on top of them. And then he pulls, forces Tegoshi closer towards him, and the weak wail he lets out could be of pain as well as of pleasure. It's always a thin line with him, but so far he has never crossed the border; and he knows Tegoshi would make him stop if he couldn't take it anymore.

“Massu.” His voice almost cracks as he says the name, and for a second Massu's hold on him eases and he lifts himself up a little, ceases all of their physical contact. “Please, just fuck me already.” It's barely a beg, almost sounds like a command, as if their roles just switched, but Massu obeys and accepts the bottle Tegoshi hands him.

He slides in smoothly, doesn't wait for Tegoshi adjust because he doesn't need to; he made him play with himself and a vibrator before he even took out the knife. There's nothing but pleasure in Tegoshi's voice now, high-pitched moans leaving him every time Massu fills him all the way, even though the drying blood tears the cuts open when he twists, and new pearls of bright red form on his skin. Massu moves his hands from Tegoshi's hips, around him to his back to pull him even closer, but the sheets are damp against the back of his hand and he places them back where they were. Like he suspected, there's red on the back of his hands; Tegoshi has bled into the sheets, enough that it hasn't dried yet. But Tegoshi seems fine, and there's no blood running from the wounds anymore, it's all starting to coagulate. So he keeps it up, doesn't slow down, doesn't stop Tegoshi when his hand sneaks down to wrap around his cock. Instead Massu gets an idea; he bends over him, pries one of his hands from Tegoshi's hips to place it over his eyes, effectively blocking his sight. Tegoshi stays calm, whines a little when Massu's thrusts stop entirely for a moment, but his hand never stops moving up and down his erection, and the way he squeezes around Massu makes it so obvious that he's close to the orgasm he's been waiting for.

When Massu starts moving again, slams into him maybe rougher than he should, he removes his hand, and Tegoshi blinks up at him. And there's no stopping Massu's groan when he does; his fringe is in his eyes, the nearly white fringe, stained and sticky with blood. But he's quick to take a hold on his chin, tilts his head up and backwards, and it looks like Tegoshi isn't sure exactly what's going on. Still, he trusts Massu, and he's much too far gone to worry anyway.  
“Massu,” he tries, wants to warn him before he comes, but then there's cold, hard metal against his bared throat, and he quiets immediately.  
“Come,” Massu replies, voice dark and nearly threatening, like he might actually slit the artery if Tegoshi doesn't do as he says. And it's that, combined with the feeling of helplessness, that finally pushes him off the edge and he moans soft and high-pitched through his orgasm.

Massu could never do anything that might set his life in actual danger, but he knows that Tegoshi gets off on the idea of it. And after the mess he has made of him there's not much left to do, but play out his ultimate fantasy. What Tegoshi doesn't need to know is that it was never the sharp side of the knife he put against his throat; he could never have had his throat slit. It made him come harder than ever before either way, and Massu barely has the strength to push through the resistance of him squeezing tight around his cock. Once, twice, and he drops the knife off the bed, hears it hit the floor with a thump, a third thrust and he spills himself inside him, breath hard, arms tense as he holds himself up as not to collapse onto Tegoshi.  
“Shit, Massu,” he whispers, and for a second Massu thinks that maybe he went to far, “that was amazing.”  
“You're welcome,” is all he returns, decides that Tegoshi doesn't need to know about the knife. What he does need, however, is a shower and disinfection, and after he manages to get him out of bed and into the bathroom, he throws a glance at the white covers. Except they're not plain white anymore; they're covered in red stains and hand prints, and he thinks to himself that yes, maybe he did overdo it this time.


End file.
